


Poached Eggs and Sex Dungeons

by Ymas



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, FoodTribe: Hamond vs May - Who makes the best poached eggs?, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: Inspired by this exchange:James: Imagine you'd been brought into this bugout bunker blindfolded, led into this kitchen…Richard: Have you done that to people??James: No no, but just put your finger on that knob, you'll know what it is. ...That didn't sound very good, did it?Richard: No.James: But just do it, put your finger....Richard: If I'd been brought blindfolded into your bunker, and someone said put your finger on that knob and you'll know what it is…!?!James: But the feel of it…I couldn't possibly let this conversation slip by un-ficced!
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond/James May
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Poached Eggs and Sex Dungeons

**Author's Note:**

> Hammond Eggs - [watch the cook-off here](https://foodtribe.com/p/hammond-eggs-R_yDArw6RyitLD_zvEUqnw?iid=f4tHsqzkSlecyggRNFhAxQ) :-)
> 
> While there's no explicit smut in this story, it deals with some kinky stuff. Blindfolds, mention of bondage, off-screen sex, things like that. Mostly it's fluff, but, well. Not only. 
> 
> Many thanks again to the brilliant, amazing, wonderful [delighted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted), without whom I could have never made this work. It would have ended very abruptly without her invaluable inputs!
> 
> P.S. I now finally get my poached eggs right every time - I'm Team Richard! ;-) 
> 
> No partners - no kids.

“It’s cheating. You know that, right?”   
  
James hums noncommittally, setting the plate with the poachies on toast down in front of Richard. He knows exactly what Richard is aiming for and will be damned if he gives him an easy in.   
  
“This.” Richard pokes the eggs with his knife. “This is an abomination. They might _taste _alright, but they _look_ all wrong. Very, _very_ wrong.”  
  
Jeremy’s newspaper lowers marginally. James knows what to look out for, knows Jeremy is all ears, knows his eyes are already sparkling with amusement. He’s such a sucker for these early morning verbal sparring matches between James and Richard. He wouldn’t participate himself, not before he’s had his fifth coffee at the very least, he knows well enough it wouldn’t turn out well. But it's become obvious over the years how much Jeremy loves to start his days on a laugh, loves watching his two lovers get into a playful spat over some inconsequential little detail.   
  
James is very aware of that fact. As is Richard, clearly. They have never talked about it, but half of their breakfast squabbles cater to it. James doesn't think Jeremy has caught on to the fact that they do it on purpose and it makes him disproportionately happy to be able to team up with Richard and give Jeremy this. There is nothing more rewarding than sending Jeremy on his way in a good mood, knowing _they_ are the reason for it.   
  
“They look like the breasts on Botticelli’s Venus, what better way to start your day?” Yes, he does say it mostly for Jeremy's benefit and he lets the flood of warmth wash over him at the sight of Jeremy's eyes crinkling behind the inadequate cover of his newspaper.   
  
The big oaf thinks he's subtle. James and Richard share a quick smile.   
  
“Mine have sunlight come out of them, you know. You crack them open, and they just…” Richard makes dissipating gesture towards the ceiling.   
  
“Mine stay where they are. So you get to, you know. Actually enjoy them." James nudges Jeremy with his foot. “Want some?”   
  
All these years and he still hasn't given up trying to make Jeremy eat some breakfast. The man’s morning diet of coffee, Red Bull, and cigarettes sometimes keeps James up at night.   
  
He worries about the people he loves. Constantly. He can’t help it. It's just what he does.   
  
“No, thank you, James.”   
  
It's like a pact. Jeremy never gets annoyed with him for asking. And James never presses the matter past the inevitable refusal. Fair’s fair.   
  
Jeremy folds his newspaper. “You should have a competition,” he says. Smirks. “On that new platform of yours.”  
  
James doesn't have to look to know Richard is already bouncing in his seat with excitement.   
  
“It's _your_ new platform, too,” he says, just for the sake of stalling. Watching Richard go all fidgety while James and Jeremy seemingly focus on the ‘wrong’ part of the conversation is one of his favourite guilty pleasures.   
  
Jeremy's eyes are soft and affectionate as he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind James’ ear. “It's yours in every way that counts.”   
  
“Can we?” Richard asks from next to him, but James has gotten a little lost in those clear, blue-grey eyes right there. Jeremy smiles. James gets lost even more.  
  
“Jaaaames, focus!” Richard whines, thumping James’ upper arm and James, after returning Jeremy’s smile in a probably far too soppy way, turns to him.   
  
“Yes, Richard?”   
  
“Can we?”   
  
“Can we what?”   
  
“Have a competition, you pillock! What do you think we were talking about? A competition! In that wonky kitchen of yours.”   
  
“My bunker kitchen is brand new, Hammond.”   
  
“James!”  
  
Jeremy is leaning against the counter with a fresh cup of coffee, watching them with amusement.   
  
James sighs. “A poached egg competition.”   
  
“Yes!”   
  
“I don't think anyone wants to see that.”   
  
“_I_ do,” Jeremy objects.  
  
“See?” Richard says, at the same time that James says “Yeah, but we all know you have some weird kinks.”   
  
“You _what_?” Richard squeaks. Because Jeremy is, in fact, very vanilla. The kinky stuff is much more James’ area.   
  
For a little more than a beat they all look at each other. Then Jeremy snorts and they all three dissolve into laughter.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A couple of days later and they are in James' workshop bunker kitchen. It's far too early in the morning and they are entirely unprepared as usual.  
  
They’d rolled out of bed less than an hour before.   
  
Richard looks — the casual observer would say hungover, but James knows it's his well-shagged look.  
  
Jeremy had made sure of it.   
  
He'd also ruffled Richard's hair, ignored his indignant howling, bitten James' earlobe and whispered "make me some wanking material" on the way out the door. Business trip. He won't be back for a week.   
  
"Are we ready?" Lucy asks.  
  
"Are we ever?" James.  
  
"Are we ever _not_?" Richard.  
  
James gives him a very pointed once-over and Richard grins and flips him two fingers.  
  
The crew laughs and oh, they don't know the half of it.   
  
“Let’s roll,” James says.   
  
So roll they do.   
  
James starts with the cooking, because his way takes longer and that much, at least, they have planned for.   
  
And it's really not much different from any other time he has tried to cook something with Richard watching.   
  
There is bitching and teasing and Richard being overdramatic. And thoroughly distracting, too. James has to remind himself several times not to touch him. It's all so familiar he almost forgets they aren't alone on a Sunday morning, preparing something to eat while working on an engine or dismantling a bike.   
  
As with almost everything they do together, they are having a blast. There is a familiarity, an ease between them, which makes the most mundane things feel special. To them and, if the comments on YouTube and DriveTribe can be believed, to the viewers, too.   
  
The joke about taking someone blindfolded into the bunker and letting them touch a knob probably wouldn't have gone down well under any circumstances.   
  
As it is, Richard gives him the most ridiculous mock-outraged look. “James! Have you _done_ that to people?!?”   
  
Oh, bugger. The cheeky little sod. In front of a fucking camera.  
  
“Nono,” James hurries to say, carefully making his voice sound casual and trying to keep the images at bay.   
  
Of course he has.   
  
And Richard loves it, every single time.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Jeremy calls James from Italy the night they put the video up on DriveTribe, making incoherent groaning sounds.   
  
“Good?” James asks.  
  
“Uuunnngh,” Jeremy rumbles. “You both look edible.”  
  
James laughs. “Indecent is the word you're looking for. Well, him. I look the same as always."  
  
"_Edible_ as always. And _I_ am the one responsible for his indecent look."  
  
"Yes, Clarkson, what a feat, congratulations." James makes himself sound exasperated, but in reality he's amused. He knows Jeremy can hear the smile in his voice.  
  
“Well, yes, I _did_ put quite a lot of effort into that look of his, I hope you appreciated it.” Slightly petulant.  
  
James laughs. “Yes, Jeremy, I remember. And I did, appreciate it, that is. It was a tad distracting, to be honest, but appreciated it was.”  
  
They’d gone to work on Richard's new old Morgan after the film crew had left and, well. James had had Richard right there over the bonnet. That shagged-out look, that sassy mouth, combined with a newly obtained assortment of oil stains — irresistible.   
  
He tells Jeremy so.   
  
“You bastard,” Jeremy moans, clearly hovering somewhere in between awe and amusement.   
  
James is utterly content.   
  
They aren't as young as they once were and sex isn't on the menu as often as it used to be. While the still relative novelty of their three-way relationship does wonders to the aging libido, not every night has to end with them shagging like bunnies. Far from it. And it's liberating, in a way, how they can flirt, and share intimacy and sexual innuendo without it having to lead anywhere every single time. A conversation like this, just a couple of months ago, would have led to a desperate attempt at potentially awkward phone sex. As it is today, all it causes is a pleasant flutter low in James’ stomach, a tingle of warmth flushing over his skin. He leans back into the sofa cushions, one hand comfortably cupping his crotch, gently kneading, savouring the lazy, comforting sensation of Jeremy's voice in his ear.  
  
“He made it sound like you have a sex-dungeon in that bunker of yours, James.”  
  
James closes his eyes. Imagines actually having such a thing, fully equipped, in his workshop. Or maybe the garage. Tools and cars keep getting in the way of the mental picture. He grins to himself. “What if I have? You wouldn't know, you never come out to play in it with us.”  
  
Jeremy is silent for a moment. Then: “That's because it's full of motorbike parts and grease and a bloody kitchen.”   
  
James laughs softly. “There's a lot of space in there, you know.”  
  
Another beat of silence.   
  
“You’re shitting me, James. Even _you_ aren't that kinky.”  
  
James hums. “Maybe. Maybe not.”   
  
They just listen to each other breathe for a while. Then:  
  
“James?”   
  
“Mmmh?”   
  
“If you had…“  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“If you really had a sex-dungeon...”   
  
“Who says I don't?”   
  
“_Wouldyouletmevisit_?”   
  
It knocks the breath right out of James' lungs for a second. "I…" He clears his throat. Tries again: "To be honest, I would have to ask Hammond first."  
  
He can literally hear the cogs turn in Jeremy's brain, acknowledging the implication, trying to work out if James is kidding, or to what degree.   
  
It's just too good an opportunity to let go. Throwing Jeremy off-balance is another thing James enjoys very much. All the more for how rarely it happens.  
  
"Jez?"  
  
"Hmmm?" It sounds slightly croaky.  
  
"Go to sleep." James cuts the connection but continues to sit there for a long time, phone in hand, contemplating his options.  
  
He might need a wank tonight, after all.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
What happens in the bunker, stays in the bunker. It's not something they talk about.   
  
And no, it's not a sex-dungeon. It's not even underground. It's the new garage/workshop building James’d had purpose-built on the abandoned neighbouring lot early last year. It's huge and fully equipped with everything the hands-on car and motorbike enthusiast could ever dream of.   
  
It has a large garage that holds all of his cars and motorcycles, complete with hydraulic car lift and service trench. A cluttered but spacious and well-equipped separate workshop for reassembling everything from toy trains to lawnmowers. And a kitchen for James’ newest hobby.   
  
It's a far cry from his previous man-cave, which had been six miles away and hadn't even held half his cars. Not to mention the cramped, dark, unpleasant makeshift workshop area James'd had installed in it.   
  
This is no comparison. This is a dream come true. And Richard is just as enthusiastic, as smitten with the place, as James is. Like children in a candy shop they spend hours, days, holed up in there, tinkering, fiddling, trying out the tools already available and lugging in more every weekend.  
  
There aren't many things in this world sexier than a happy, sweaty, excited, grease-stained Hamster.   
  
A _begging_, happy, sweaty, excited and grease-stained Hamster on his knees with his hands tied behind his back with a dismantled seatbelt is one of these things, James has, rather unexpectedly, discovered.   
  
Rather stunningly it turned out the effect can be ramped up even more when a blindfold is involved.   
  
Jeremy knows, of course he does. Maybe not all the details. But he knows they get up to some more imaginative things in that bunker every once in a while and it's just as well, because it keeps that kind of stuff out of the bedroom.   
  
Because another surprising thing is that Jeremy, for all his bluster and bravado, is a big softie. Not interested in that kind of thing at all.   
  
Or is he?   
  
So this time, James and Richard talk.   
  
And Richard is just as surprised as James is.   
  
And then they go shopping.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Jeremy comes home late on Friday night. He's knackered and fraught and James and Richard make very slow, very reassuring, very careful love to him.   
  
All of Saturday, James unsuccessfully tries racking up his nerves to say something, suggest something. He has to leave on a trip of his own on Monday and he’d very much like to have some kind of resolution before that, but he can’t quite bring himself to make a move. Richard watches him out of the corner of his eye all day, but doesn't push.   
  
On Sunday, it's now, or not for quite a while. James gathers courage while doing the dishes.  
  
Then he jumps.   
  
“Uh, Hammond?” he asks, after clearing away the last of the lunch plates, drying his hands on a fresh dish towel. Richard looks up from his laptop.   
  
James lets the towel slide through his fingers, making his intentions clear. “Do you want to mess around with some tools in the bunker?”   
  
God, it sounds stilted and rehearsed.   
  
But they have Jeremy's attention.  
  
Richard grins. “‘course! And wasn’t there something about a knob that you think could be identified by touch, while blindfolded?”  
  
There's kind of a squeaky yelp from Jeremy, followed by a cough. Then, in almost his normal voice: “There was. I heard that.”   
  
“Wanna put it to the test?” Challenging, teasing, eager. Very Richard. It goes straight to James’ cock.   
  
“I think we should,” James says. “Can’t go making unverified statements like that on the interweb.”  
  
“No, that would be irresponsible.” Richard turns to Jeremy. “D’you wanna come, too? See how I do? We could do with a witness.”   
  
“Uh.” Jeremy stalls, suddenly looking a little like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “I… uh…”   
  
Richard gets up from the sofa and walks over to where Jeremy is sitting at the dinner table, working on a column. He tilts Jeremy’s head up with an index finger and very softly kisses him on the lips. Jeremy’s eyes stay wide open, but after a second or two, he responds.  
  
“You’re invited to join us, if you want to. Anytime. You know that.” Richard kisses him on the lips once more, then on the forehead.  
  
James’ heart soars. Seeing them interact, seeing Richard be so sweet and careful with Jeremy, it makes his eyes sting every single time. Jeremy, who’d been the last to come to terms with the situation, the last to accept that there is no denying anymore that what matters most in life is each other. Jeremy, who’d been last to take that final step and who’d had to go through a veritable crisis of identity to be able to be with them.   
  
Who needs to be loved and taken care of like no one else James has ever been with.   
  
James had been worried, at first, that Richard would steamroll over him. With his exuberance and his sass and his unapologetic self-confidence.   
  
He needn't have. Richard is very different with Jeremy than he is with James. Oh, he’s still very much Richard in everything he does. But he seems to have an unerring instinct for what’s needed when and adjusts accordingly, managing to put Jeremy at ease without fail.  
  
He stays there now, just this little bit longer, carding fingers through Jeremy’s hair until Jeremy breathes regularly again. Another kiss into thinning curls, then he comes over to stand in front of James.  
  
“Go on, then.” He winks.  
  
And drops to his knees.   
  
It's not as graceful as it used to be. His left knee is shot to hell, after all. Not that Richard would let on. Like that first time, all those years ago, he chooses to pretend nothing is wrong.   
  
_Show no weakness_.   
  
Not yet, at least.  
  
James holds Richard's eyes for a long moment. Then he, too, winks.   
  
Let the games begin.   
  
He wraps the towel around Richard’s head, covering his eyes. It's a tight fit, but he manages to tangle the ends just enough to make it hold for now. He runs his fingers through Richard's hair, playing with the strands, slightly hesitant.   
  
They have never started this in the house.   
  
If he thinks about it — they’ve never even planned it before. It has always somehow just happened, in the intimacy, the intensity of a day spent together. Working, sweating, laughing.   
  
“‘No’ doesn't mean no,” James says slowly. For Jeremy's benefit. Richard had been upset, almost hysterical, that first time when his ‘no’ had stopped James. Distraught and disoriented from being yanked so abruptly out of the fantasy it had taken a lot of time and uncharacteristic (for James at least) cuddling to calm him down.  
  
“But if he says ‘stop’, I’ll stop.”  
  
It might not be a customary safe word in the scene. Not creative, like the things James had encountered while doing research on the internet, balancing the laptop on his knees in a quiet corner, feeling guilty and excited at the same time. Not exactly fitting for two professional writers who pride themselves on their imagination and eloquence. But it makes James feel safer than making Richard say something like ‘torque-control’. It keeps them both safe. Which is the only thing that matters.  
  
Jeremy is on his feet now and staring, breathing hard. More panic than arousal still at this point, judging from his expression. Jeremy is very new to this.  
  
James needs to go easy on him.  
  
He runs his finger along Richard's jaw, his thumb over Richard’s lip, watching Jeremy closely. Richard stays perfectly still.   
  
“We should probably get him off that bum knee,” James says, keeping eye-contact with Jeremy while toying with Richard's hair some more. He waits until Jeremy visibly relaxes his shoulders, unclenches his teeth. Then, turning back to Richard decisively, he grabs his bicep. “Come on, up!”  
  
Richard obeys immediately. He sways a little from the disorientation of the sudden change in position and James steadies him with a firm grip, waiting until his circulation has caught up.  
  
Waiting, too, for Jeremy to catch up.  
  
“Shall we go find some knobs for you to touch, Richard?” Addressing Richard directly, making it clear that he expects an answer. That Richard is allowed to speak.  
  
“Yes, please.” Richard licks his lips, voice already quivering with anticipation, and James feels his own excitement rise. He leans close, making sure his breath chills the moistened skin but careful not to touch. “Let’s do that, then.”  
  
He turns Richard around and steers him towards the back door with just one hand placed at the small of his back. Richard goes without hesitation, his step sure and unfaltering. The level of trust displayed by the simple response takes James’ breath away.  
  
It always does.  
  
The sex resulting from these games might be outstanding. But this right here is the primary reason James plays. Nothing gets close to the thrill of making their trust in each other palpable.  
  
When they get to the door, James stops Richard with a tug on his shoulder and turns them both around to face Jeremy, who’s still rooted to the spot, the table like a safety barrier between them.  
  
“It's your decision of course, Jez. But I'd quite like an audience for a change."  
  
He notices Richard bite his lip as he as he says it, knows what an effort it is for him to keep silent.  
  
James rewards him with a light bite to that particularly sensitive spot on his neck, moves on to sucking at his skin, a spot slightly lower, a spot that ought to be easy to cover with a buttoned-up shirt, just in case he leaves a mark. James is nothing if not careful.  
  
It's another thing Richard trusts him with. Infinitely.  
  
He keeps at it until Richard can't quite stifle a moan anymore, letting out a rumbling, choked-off sound, upon which James draws back abruptly, severing all contact.  
  
He turns to Jeremy, pleased. Alright, smug.  
  
He's feeling smug, he won't deny it. Richard is more keyed up by this than James had anticipated, probably because he'd known it was coming, definitely because Jeremy is watching.  
  
And James is excited to show this to Jeremy, this private little connection he and Richard had shared exclusively for months now. To make Jeremy a part of it. After all, something has always been missing in their games and James suspects a big oaf with bad hair is the answer. But Jeremy needs to be comfortable with it.  
  
"So would he, I assume,” James adds, dragging his thoughts back to the situation at hand.  
  
Jeremy's breathing is erratic and harsh, but it has definitely tipped over from panic into arousal.  
  
James is proud he can tell the difference. He can even tell Jeremy is starting to get it. To see the level of trust between them. To understand the appeal.  
  
James lets his voice drop, the way he knows Jeremy can’t resist. “I am quite certain, in fact.”  
  
A shiver runs through Richard at the tone, shaking his lean frame. James smiles.  
  
“That was a 'yes', Jez." He brings his mouth up close to Richard's ear. "We'd love for Jez to watch, wouldn't we? We'd give him quite the show."  
  
Richard shudders again and James chuckles, nipping at his earlobe. He watches as Jeremy fights for composure, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the table top.  
  
“I'm not sure Jezza believes me,” James fibs with a sly smile. “Tell him Richard, would you like him to watch? Would you like him watching how I drive you crazy with those new toys we bought? Would you like him watching me make you come?”  
  
“Yes!” Richard throws his head back, baring his throat, and James’ cock gives a violent throb. He allows himself to run his hand down Richard’s neck, thumb and index finger coming to rest over the sensitive base, but at the same time he stomps down hard on his own arousal. He is the one in control, here. He will keep his head clear till the very end.  
  
“Yes, yes Jezza, please, I want you to.” Richard's voice is ragged and rough.  
  
James’ gaze is focused on Jeremy. Jeremy who's edged around the table, standing in front of the kitchen counter now, hands balled into tight fists.  
  
“What do you want him to do?” James asks.  
  
“Watch,” Richard chokes.  
  
“Only watch?”  
  
“And touch. I want to… touch…”  
  
“_Yes_,” Jeremy says. One syllable only, hoarsely choked out but explosive.  
  
Richard is trembling.  
  
James is breathing carefully through his nose. _Don’t get carried away now. Don’t spook him_.  
  
Jeremy still doesn’t move.  
  
"Anytime, Jez, and strictly on your terms,” James says gently, making it clear once more that it’s a choice, an open offer — but knowing he’s now got him hooked. And honestly, who could resist Richard when he is like this?  
  
He meets Jeremy’s gaze sincerely, interrupting the game just long enough to let it all sink in, long enough for Jeremy to catch up.  
  
Then James nods, and slips back into his role, pushing Richard roughly through the door and out to the enclosed back garden which connects the house to the bunker.  
  
Not waiting for Jeremy to follow. Not putting any pressure on him.  
  
Richard goes willingly.   
  
And James doesn't look back.  
  
But then again, he doesn't need to.  
  
  



End file.
